


Double Down

by JimDandy



Series: Souvenir Shotglasses [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Flirting, Friendship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, One-Sided Attraction, Other, Pining, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26769559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JimDandy/pseuds/JimDandy
Summary: He looked incredulous as he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and haphazardly shoved it back in his pocket.  It was greyed with age, faded designs, and beaded flowers at the end.At the bottom of the stairs,  Charles stopped dead,  realisation hitting him like a loaded gun.--------A pretty loose companion piece to "Ten-Cent Adventures"Another chance meeting between the boys in their 20'sVery pre-canon, no real plot.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Charles Smith, Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, John Marston & Arthur Morgan, Mary Gillis Linton/Arthur Morgan
Series: Souvenir Shotglasses [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018951
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68
Collections: Newspaper Clippings





	Double Down

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a little more self- indulgent and slapped together since I've been sick at home the last few days. Thanks everyone for the kudos on the first story, I honestly didn't expect any and was quite overwhelmed.

The late afternoon sun did not do much to ease the cold bite of wind as it whipped around the side of the Wilkeson Inn. Charles pulled his collar up and sank deeper into his coat, resting casually against a hitching post. He had been there the better part of twenty minutes, standing mostly unnoticed just around the backside of a large lavish coach loading up with wealthy northern railroad sponsors. It was scheduled to leave in an hour.

  
Charles lit a cigarette, keeping his hat brim down, he waited patiently as the driver ushered in a saloon girl carrying refreshments. It would be an easy score, Charles had only counted two guards. One atop the coach he could take out with a well placed arrow, and one inside with the railway men. He would head them off easily three miles outside of town, and be lost enough in the Montana hills to not be found by the law when they came searching. 

  
He took a long drag of his cigarette as laughter bubbled out of the coach. One of the men inside, British by the sound of his accent, lambasted the town as being over run by nothing more than brutes and savages, and God willing, the new railway would bring salvation and civilized society. He bristled, he hadn’t planned on killing any of them today, however this one may just have to find his salvation on the business end of a shotgun. 

  
While the act wasn’t foreign, the last few years Charles had made a point to leave a small wake and not take lives unnecessarily. His teen years had seen him boiling, overcome with righteous anger and no fuse. He was in perpetual motion dealing out his justice, he burned through anyone in his path. His mother gone, his father…… he, well… he was gone too. It took a long time time to find his way. He eventually came to his senses half-dead at the bottom of a dry ravine, his face split from cheek to jaw. He lay there for three days baking in the heat, caked every inch in blood and mud, an entire company of soldiers dead on the cliff above.   


All the death, every life he took, was just another drop in a bucket. His mother was not coming back, there was no amount of destruction to be paid to remedy that. His loving family was gone. Time does not go backwards.   


“Get back here you little shit!” Charles found himself suddenly in freefall, his head flying backwards to smack into the hitching post. He heard cackling and the smack of bare footfalls against the dirt road behind him. 

“Hey, watch it!” Charles sat himself back upright annoyed, one hand on the back of his head, the other reaching towards his gun. His hat had landed nearby. He heard a sharp hiss of pain and an intake of breath across from him. 

“Ah -shit, sorry.” Came the winded reply. The man who collided into him was lying with his knees up and back flat in the dirt, arms sprawled out. Charles got to his feet first, offering a hand up, the other still on his gun. The hand was taken immediately and Charles pulled. Too much momentum, he was suddenly level with bright blue eyes. He dropped the hand and recoiled. It was…. An itch in his mind, a memory…. ? From a different life…or a dream? He staggered backwards. 

“My apologies,” The man bent to pick up his own hat with a grunt. “You see my rat bastard of a little brother run by?” He dusted the hat off and set it quickly on his head. “He’s stole somethin’ of mine, I’m kinda in a rush.” He clapped Charles on the shoulder before brushing past him “Sorry again, If you stick around partner, I’ll buy you a drink!” Charles nodded numbly and watched him run off down the lane. “John, I swear t’God, if I find even one of your greasy, grimy, disgusting handprints on a single page I’m gonna knock the livin’ daylights out of you!” 

Charles stooped to pick up his own hat. He felt… lost, adrift- that was the sensation that came to mind as he rubbed the back of his aching head, his other hand finally dropping from where it had rested on his shotgun under his coat. Surely it was just the haze of the fall, but he couldn't understand why his chest hurt, and why his vision burned with blue eyes. He needed air. 

He walked away from the Railway coach without so much as a backwards glance, the men inside in another bout of uproarious laughter, glasses clinking. Charles , wrapping himself a little tighter in his coat, hurried into the wind and down the side alley. He stopped at the edge of a building, where a small patch of sun poked through, and rested flat against the side collecting himself. 

Calm breath in through his nose, hold, calm breath out through his mouth. Calm breath in, out. A flurry of birds that had been roosting in the second story of the neighboring building caught Charles attention and they twittered urgent displeasure. Breath in, he listened- soft foot steps, wood creaking ever so lightly- breath out. Then, a muffled “Shit!” as wooden roof tiles hit the ground a few yards in front of him.

He looked up to see a dark-haired kid peering over the edge and dive out of sight.   
Charles sighed and looked around, slapping his hat against his hand. No one in sight, he heaved himself onto the low porch roof, and up towards the second story. His hair wound around him as he pulled himself up the building he could hear bits of words, in a scratchy voice, drifting in the wind from over the rooftop. He grabbed hold of the rain gutter and braced himself enough to peer over the edge. 

A scraggly looking kid, with lanky arms, brown hair, bare feet, and miss-matched patchy clothes sat with his back to Charles, starting down. 

“Oh Mary!” he cackled “How is it you can be-b-bewitch a man in his en-tir-ety.” He howled and rolled with laughter “I must be a under some spell be-cau-se I feel a-afloat in your st-stun-“

“stunning presence.” Charles finished the sentence for him, reading over his shoulder. The kid yelped and Charles reached forward, snatching a journal out of his hands. 

“Hey! How did you- Who the fuck are you?!” 

“Is this what all the fuss was about?” Charles hummed annoyed, it was open to the same page that was being read aloud. The kid lunged at him, and Charles grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt. He writhed and fought like an animal. “Try anything and I’ll toss you over.” Charles threatened flatly, and glanced back to the open page. One side had sketchy graphite drawings- a beautiful woman, flowers, a deer- the other was uniform curving writing, headed at the top with a large A and M with a heart between the letters. He shut the journal. 

“If you don’t let me go-“ 

“I mean, I can.” Charles kept his grip firm, but teetered him closer to the edge. The kids arms frantically reaching back to get a grasp on Charles. “I think your brother is looking for you, and I’d rather not have to explain a red splatter on the ground.” 

“Alright, alright! And Arthur ain’t my brother, much as he tries to pretend to be!” he let Charles lead him down off the roof and chatted incessantly in his scratching voice. 

“Y’know, I could prolly take you in a fight, you jus’ snuck up on me s’all. I kilt plen’y of men before. Bigger ‘n meaner than you!” 

“Hmm.” Charles kept the journal firmly in one hand. 

“You ever kill anyone? I don't see no gun on you. If y’ have, You an’ Arthur should have a standoff, he’s got the quickest shot I ever seen. He makes me so mad!” Charles pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Kid, do you ever-” 

“My names John! I ain’t no kid!” 

“Mm.” Charles nodded skeptically, helping John down off of the last bit of roof. Now they were back on the ground, Charles grabbed him by the back of the shirt-collar to lead him back onto the road.

“Hey, I don’t-“

“So you ain’t gonna run when your brother gets over here?” Charles motioned towards the man who had bowled him over earlier. He was across the street a few buildings over, looking under the Doctors office porch when he caught sight of them. 

“Aw! Fuck’s sakes, you really gonna turn me in?” He asked in a panic, clawing at Charles arm again. “Arthur, leave me alone! Let me go!” 

“Dutch ain’t here to rescue you, John.” He called tauntingly as he walked over. Charles stiffened. 

“I didn’t read your **stupid** journal.” He spat and struggled harder.

  
“I know you didn’t _read_ it, you’d have to have a lick a’smarts for that. ” John growled in frustration and tried lunging at Arthur, who gave a small laugh.

“Well?” He looked looked up at Charles expectantly.

“Oh.” Charles paused, “No, I didn’t see him read it.” John went limp, his head whipped around to gawk up at Charles. He released his grip then, and John stayed.

“Alright then, go on, get!” Arthur gave John a decent smack to the back of his head. “Hosea’s lookin’ for you over by the Hotel.” John hesitated a second, rubbing the back of his head and scowling before taking off, his barefoot smacks fading away with the wind. “Quick little bastard.” Arthur motioned to The journal still clutched in Charles hand. 

“Guess I really do owe you that drink partner.” Charles looked over to him and handed him the journal. Arthur pulled a cigarette from his pocket and set it between his lips as he stared down. Charles felt his eyes linger on the cigarette, his heart in his throat. “Tsk. He did read it, little shithead.” His eyes met Charles’ again, the smallest quirk at the edge of his mouth. He motioned the journal upwards, the clasp still hanging loose, pages bent. Charles shrugged. 

  
“Pages might’ve been me.” Arthur pulled out a match and lit it against his jeans, lighting the cigarette. He flicked the match away.

“So, drink?” 

“No, I-“ Charles looked to the…. Wait, it was gone! The Coach was already gone!

* * *

  
“One sarsaparilla, here y’go.” Charles leaned back to take the offered bottle. With his robbery plan bust, he figured why not, though he declined alcohol. He thought the sarsaparilla request would be questioned, but was met with a “Comin’ up.” As Arthur went inside to pay. 

“So, what brings out here to lovely Ennis Mister…?”

“Smith. And business.” 

“Mister Smith, Arthur. Morgan. Here on business too.” A hand was offered to shake as Arthur crouched down to sit on the floor next to him. The wind had died down and they had gone up to the balcony of the saloons second story. The saloon was nice, red brick and well kept, but Charles did not care to be indoors. People tended to pick fights with him, and it was not for the fact that he was big and strong. He wasn’t sure if Arthur knew what it meant when he suggested they stay outside and he agreed, or if he just preferred being out of doors himself. Either way, Charles was glad of it.

Their shoulders brushed briefly as Arthur settled on the floor next to him, he let his legs dangle off the edge between railing posts. “Thanks for findin’ John, he’s a damn menace on a good day, insufferable lately. Though I reckon that's my fault, I ain’t paid him much attention the last few weeks.” 

“Must be doin’ something right, Kid wouldn't shut up about you, or at all really.” Arthur barked out laughter.

“Yeah, we haven't figured out what the trick is t’make him stop yet.” He took a swig of his bottle. Whiskey.

Charles leaned back onto his hands, trying to get a better look at him. Everything about Arthur was…. familiar. He could close his eyes and could almost remember a dream as a child, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about blue eyes, and blond hair that shone in the sun. He felt heat prickle on the back of his neck.

“Ah, he’s a good kid though, much as I’d never admit it to ‘im” Arthur smiled fondly, staring out at the hills rolling in purples as dusk settled. “Picked him up off the streets ‘bout a year ago. Hosea calls him my shadow.” He chucked. 

Arthur kept his hat tilted low and bent, but even so it was apparent to Charles that Arthur really was quite handsome. His face was angular, but not unkind. He had a look about him, with a few days worth of beard growth, and wind- chapped cheeks. It wasn't something Charles really ever thought about or looked for before. He figured he was just surviving, there wasn’t really time for….. noticing faces.

Arthur was tall, broad shouldered. His clothes were well-made and looked tailored, his vest was fitted, and the brass buttons on his long coat were still shiny. Charles felt strange sitting next to him, his own black coat so worn it was going thin at the elbows with numerous patched holes. His hat, tossed next to him, had lost all rigidity. He never felt like he belonged anywhere, but he had never felt out of place until now.

The silence, which was normally a comfort, stretched on for endless minutes. While Charles wouldn’t ever have considered himself loquacious, in fact, he made it a point not to converse at all usually, he found the silence unbearable. He scrambled for something, anything to fill it, or more, he searched for something to hear the timbre of Arthur’s voice fill the silence. 

“Who taught you how to draw like that?” 

“What?” Arthur’s head snapped towards Charles, his eyes wide. He could see a pleasant flush staining his cheeks. Charles motioned towards the satchel that housed the journal with his chin.

“The book. You drew the pictures?”

“I-I…. I, well yes.” He fidgeted, plucking his hat off his head and running his fingers through his hair nervously. “I don’t normally…. No ones… It ain’t something I like to share. It’s why John’s so fond of stealin’ it.” 

“Hmm. They’re really very good, the drawings.” Charles watched in fascination as the flush deepened, turning even the tips of Arthur’s ears pink. Charles felt himself lean forward slightly, his hair so long, it brushed his hand as he moved and Arthur’s eyes followed. It made Charles feel as though all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. 

Arthur let out a breath, and Charles caught the faint sent of whiskey, he wanted….. wanted…. Wanted this to stop. This had to stop. Whatever these silly notions were, Charles was a survivor, a loner, a murderer, and this would not work. Self sabotage it was, then.

“Who’s the woman? With the brooch?” 

“Ah.” Arthur pulled his hat off again this time tossing it lightly to the ground next to him, and leaned back on one elbow. 

“She seems quite beautiful.”

“That’s Mary. “ he gave a half-hearted lopsided smile. He took another swig of whiskey, the bottle three-quarters empty. “I think she’s the love of my life.” Arthur picked at a button on his sleeve. Charles felt like he had been struck through with lightning. Good. Better to get hurt now and get it over with. Maybe if this….thing with Arthur was so thoroughly dashed before he even put a word to it, he would stop letting his eyes drift to the curve of Arthur’s mouth as he spoke, to the sun-freckles on his forehead and cheeks. 

Arthur downed the last of the whisky, and lay flat on the deck floor, sweat from the alcohol starting to bead at his temples. He looked up at Charles, studying his face. 

“She's gettin’ married in a week.” He cleared his throat. “It, uh, it ain't to me.” Charles took a swig of his bottle then, unsure of what to say. hating the corresponding flutter that happened in his stomach at the words, and the shiver that ran down his spine. 

“Her loss.” He said without thinking, and then realising, felt his own face heat. The corner of Arthur’s mouth quirked at the statement. 

“It’s been a few months since she told me, s’pose I should get over it.” 

Charles shrugged and looked away, taking another drink of his sarsaparilla. “Things take time.” 

Arthur’s hand came up to lightly touch Charles’ hair, and he stiffened, looking back down at Arthur. 

“That’s what I keep bein’ told.” Arthur gave a wry smile.

“Mm. If life has taught me anything, it’s that pain is the hardest to process.” He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate through the feeling of the ever so slight tug of fingers untangling the ends of his hair. 

“Wise words from someone so young.” 

“I don't feel young.” 

“Haw.” Arthur drawled, “You can't be more ‘n twenty, twenty-one.”

“Somewhere thereabouts.” Charles shrugged.   


They sat in silence for several minutes, the last of the light fading pale green over the horizon. 

“You ever been in love Mister Smith?” 

“No.” Charles swallowed. Arthur leaned back up on his elbows, his hand letting go of a strand of Charles hair he had been working between his fingers. 

“That’s a shame. So… you never been with anyone?” He leaned in closer.

“No.” 

“Have y’ ever been kissed?” Charles leaned in this time, ever so slightly. He could feel the heat of Arthurs breath on his face. 

“No.” he whispered. His eyes were fixated on Arthur’s. Impossible endless blue eyes staring up at him, mouth slightly parted expectantly and he….. he knew what he was doing. Charles pulled away and sat up fully. 

“Somethin’ wrong?” Peering up at him Arthur ran a hand through his own hair and wet his lips. Charles knew then- Arthur _knew_ he was good-looking, he knew how to smooth talk, he knew he was charming. This was the blow Charles needed. The crushing realisation that he could have been any old fool today for Arthur to drown a bit of sorrow in. He smiled ruefully at his own stupidity. He was annoyed at himself. A pair of blue eyes and he was weak at the knees? Charles grabbed his hat and stood up with a grunt.

“Thanks for the drink.”

“Where you goin’?” Arthur blinked stunned, and sat up. 

“Have a good night, Mister Morgan.” Charles called over his shoulder. He should have just robbed the damn coach, to hell with all this. Just as he reached the stairs, he cast one last look to over to Arthur. He looked incredulous as he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and haphazardly shoved it back in his pocket. It was greyed with age, faded designs, and beaded flowers at the end.   


At the bottom of the stairs, Charles stopped dead, realisation hitting him like a loaded gun.

**Author's Note:**

> Something I've realised is usually people who grow past volatile younger years seem to be the most aggravatingly level headed people when they're older. Its also interesting when you start to see through the calm mask. 
> 
> Again, please forgive the formatting. The last story just got shot to hell upon upload and there isn't much I can do for it.
> 
> -Jim


End file.
